Davy took his time plotting their course via the Straits to Malaga. To confirm his calculations, he checked the distance twice. They should complete the journey of one thousand two hundred miles in six days. A phone call to the shop in the marina topped up their bottled water and frozen bread supplies.
***
That morning, Harman-Smith listened to a breakfast radio phone-in. A caller stated that London's reported explosion was a government cover-up, the actual cause being an unexploded World War two bomb.
Later that day, the Armed Forces Minister made a Parliament statement, declaring they were aware of those UXB's which remained in the Greater London Area.
In the Centre, Harman-Smith sat at his desk listening to a verbal report from his two operatives. He nodded and smiled, knowing the public always trusted BBC News. He needed time but wondered where the man who smashed the Red Mafia's chain of command had gone. A search for a Mercedes driven by a man dressed as a tramp was in full swing.
***
When he was ready, Davy visited the Harbour Master's Office, advising him of his intentions. Hobson's Choice slipped her mooring one hour before high tide and proceeded along the marked passage and into the English Channel.
Once out of the harbour, he set the sails and stopped the engine; ahead ships of varying sizes criss-crossed the sea. He knew that crossing the English Channel could be dangerous until they reached the French side's coastal zone.
The heaving deck forced Tracey into the cabin; her head spun, and her stomach churned. Seasickness assaulted her mind and body. She lay on her back with her knees bent and stared unseeing through the open hatch.
At the helm, Davy was in his element. The sails filled, and Hobson's Choice came alive. She rode the swell, her decks covered by spray bursting over the bow.
A few hours later, Tracey made it onto the deck. Although pale, when the wind caught her red hair, she radiated that something special.
Hungry, Davy ate the corned beef sandwiches made before sailing. Tracy, her stomach queasy nibbled a slice of dry bread.
At nine in the evening, he took a fix and found the Alderney Light to be ten miles distant. The wind held fair as he set the autopilot to steer 225 degrees.
Davy settled in the cockpit for the night. "Tracey, go and rest. It would help more if you had time to recover. She kissed him and disappeared.
The night seemed endless as he struggled to stay awake. At last, the sun rose from astern. Today, he decided, Tracey must help. He descended the ladder into the main cabin and made two cups of tea.
Tracy, in her bra and knickers, followed Davy up on deck. Recharged by eight hours of sleep she appeared almost human
He attempted a wolf whistle but failed. "I'd get your clothes on if I were you."
She giggled, shrugged her shoulders and dropped into the cabin.
On her return, he said, "I need to sleep. Take the helm and keep a lookout for anything that floats. Moreover, remember the golden rule. Always one hand for you. I reckon we'll be on this course for a good few hours. If something starts to get near, wake me. I set the autopilot, so don't touch a thing."
She placed her hand on his. "Don't you trust me?"
"When my head hits that pillow, I'll be dead to the world. If that's not trusting, I don't know what is."
He left her glancing towards vessels on the horizon
Sat in the stern, she gazed at the clear blue sky and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face. Today, unlike yesterday, the sea breeze exhilarated.
